


Episode 2: Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester.

by inkandpaperqwerty



Series: Bright Smiles and Bloody Lips [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Be Patient With Him, Bobby is mentioned, Canon Compliant Until Season 4, Castiel is not good with kids, Child Advocacy, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Needs a Lot of Things, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nothing Shown, Past Abuse, Past Neglect, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 04, Single Parent Sam Winchester, Supportive Dean Winchester, Uncle Dean Winchester, Universe Alteration, Vodka Uncle Dean Winchester, bless his soul, he will get better, no specifics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperqwerty/pseuds/inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: "Dean expected Sam to find a way to cope after he was dragged to Hell. By no means did he, even for a moment, think Sam might look to parenting as a coping mechanism."One would think a long day filled with bloodthirsty spirits trying to kill everyone he cared about would be the most stressful event in Liam's week, but no. He's far more stressed by the idea Dean might have been hurt in a very specific way but is refusing to talk about it because... well, nobody likes to talk about being touched where they shouldn't have been.Second to that is the angel-not-angel who keeps making Dean upset. Liam doesn't like Castiel and has no problems saying so to Castiel's face.Monsters come third. After all, Liam is used to monsters.Meanwhile, Dean's just trying not to screw up an already fragile trauma victim by letting his mouth get ahead of his brain. He's also trying to keep Liam from being smote for his brutal honesty and a sass that could only have come from overexposure to Sam. Basically, he's screwed.





	Episode 2: Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester.

JULY 28th, 2008

ABERDEEN, MARYLAND

 

“You shoulda let it finish.”

Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and took a moment to catch his breath, looking at the little redhead with confusion in his eyes. “What?” he panted.

Shrugging, the little boy leaned toward the edge of the bed, tilting his head to the side and examining the dead shtriga. “I dunno what it is. But it looked like it was gonna put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, well—” Sam snorted out a bitter laugh, engaging the safety on his handgun before tucking it into the waistband of his pants. “He would have put you to sleep in a way you can’t wake up from.”

“That’s what I meant.”

Sam crinkled his brow, looking at the boy with a mixture of contemplation and pain on his features. It had been a long time since he had been a child advocate, but he remembered enough to know suicidal ideation could start at agonizingly young ages.

“You, uh… you want to go to sleep and not wake up?” Sam glanced at the bedroom door, knowing he could only stay as long as the rest of the building remained unaware of his presence. “How long have you felt like that?”

“I dunno,” the boy mumbled, still staring at the shtriga. “I don’t like sleeping, ‘cause there’s so many bad dreams, and I used to like being awake, but I don’t like being awake here, so…” He shrugged again, the gesture entirely too careless for what he was trying to say. “I don’t really wanna die, ‘cause that’s forever, y’know? But I don’t wanna be awake or asleep anymore, so…” He shrugged yet again. “What else is there?”

For the first time since Dean went to Hell, Sam felt a flicker of something inside him that wasn’t anger or grief. He honestly hadn’t known whether or not he was still capable of sympathy, let alone empathy, so it was almost a relief to realize he was feeling both. It was also a relief to find Liam was only low-key suicidal—craving escape more from his situation than his own head—but it hurt to witness all the same.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked softly.

“Liam. Liam T. Bailey.” Liam held his hand out and peered up at Sam with wide, strikingly blue eyes, licking his chapped lips. “What’s your name?”

“Sam. Sam K. Winchester.” Sam smiled ever-so-slightly and shook the hand, crouching down beside the bed to get on Liam’s level. “Do the people here hurt you, Liam?”

Liam shrugged, shifting around under the blankets until he was sitting cross-legged. “Not really.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Some of the older boys do, but it’s not a big deal.  I just wanna go home. They keep saying I can, and then they don’t let me. They say Mom’s gonna visit, but she never does. I just… I don’t wanna be here, but every time I run away, I run out of money, and I have to come back.”

Sam pursed his lips and nodded slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “How many times have you run away?”

Liam only shrugged again. “I dunno. Like, a gazillion.”

Sam laughed softly. “Is that an official count?”

Liam flashed a smile of his own and nodded. “Yup.”

Sam let his smile linger, and he leaned against the bed, folding his arms on the mattress. “When you ran away, did you get to see your mom?”

Liam’s smile faded, dejected eyes dropping to the comforter, and he slowly shook his head. “No. I saw her once, but she called my caseworker to take me back.” He sniffed, but it didn’t look like he was crying, and then he offered another one of his shrugs. “It’s my fault Daddy went to jail. Mom has to go to work now… and she’s mad at me.”

Sam kept his outward expression open and understanding, but he could already feel cynicism digging its claws into his heart. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He smiled warmly and tried to wave off the grave air Liam had created. “I doubt what happened with your dad was your fault.”

Liam folded his hands together in his lap, playing with his own fingers, shame coloring his cheeks. “No, it was.” He sniffed again. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about what Daddy and I did together… about our special time… but I did, and then they took him away.”

Sam felt another weight added to the already sizable load on his chest, and he found himself desperately wishing there was something he could do besides talk. “Liam… if somebody breaks the law, it’s their fault when they go to jail, not the person who tells on them.” He chose his words carefully as he continued. “I’m sure you’ve been told not to tattle before, right?”

Liam nodded, peering up at Sam through dark red bangs.

“That’s stupid, Liam. Okay? Don’t listen to grownups who tell you that. Because you know what?” Sam moved a little closer and lowered his voice, as if sharing an important secret. “When you’re little, they tell you not to tattle, but when you grow up, they tell you that’s all you should do.”

Liam looked at him in shock and confusion, so Sam expanded his explanation.

“Grownups go to the police and get lawyers when someone does something bad to them, because that’s how it should be. If someone does something bad to you, telling a grownup about it doesn’t make you a tattletale, it makes you very mature and very smart.” Sam wet his lips and reached out, gently nudging Liam’s cheek. “You did what you were supposed to do, Liam. People might tell you different, but those people… even if they really love you… they tell you that because they don’t want to get in trouble.” He shook his head emphatically. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad people, and it doesn’t mean they don’t love you. But part of growing up is learning that you’ve got to tell someone when you’ve been hurt, even if the person who hurt you isn’t happy about it.”

Liam looked at Sam for a moment more, and then he dropped his gaze to his lap. He twisted his hands a few times, sniffed, and fell into silence as he twisted them some more.

Sam stayed quiet, letting Liam digest the words despite knowing they wouldn’t be received. They might help, and they might add to the long-term goal of recovery, but trauma like Liam had couldn’t be talked away in a single night.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before a glance to his right reminded him he had a job to finish. Besides, it wasn’t like he was still in law school, and he definitely wasn’t an advocate anymore. He couldn’t really do anything for the kid without breaking the law; without _shattering_ the law.

“Yeah, buddy. I’ve got to get rid of this thing before anybody catches me in here.” Sam reluctantly got to his feet, knowing the sooner he got away, the less damage his departure would cause. “It can be kinda hard to explain monster hunting to people.”

“You can’t come back and visit?” Liam cringed through the words, as if he expected a physical blow in response to his question.

He probably did.

“I don’t think I can, Liam. I’m sorry.” Sam grabbed the shtriga and hauled it to the window he had come in through. “Don’t tell anybody you saw me, okay?” He pushed the monster corpse through the opening and crawled out after it, turning around to meet Liam’s eyes with a smile.

Liam clambered out of bed and trotted over to the window, wearing a smile, albeit a weaker one, of his own. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

“Good.” Sam crouched down and grabbed the shtriga again, dragging it over his shoulder and around his neck. “It was nice to meet you, Liam.” _I have to get out of here._

“It was nice to meet you, too, Sam.” Liam folded his arms on the windowsill and rested his chin on top, an almost dreamy light going into his eyes. “I like you.”

_Don’t do that._

“You’re nice.”

 _Don’t. You don’t know what I’ve done, what I am, and I can’t help you. Don’t._ Sam chuckled to stave off the guilt and shame, a note of bitterness slipping into his voice. “I’m really not, but thanks.”

“No, you are.” Liam nodded affirmatively, clearly believing every word he said. “You’re just sad right now. But nobody stays sad forever. You’ll feel better someday, and when you do, you’ll see how nice you are. Trust me. I know these things.” His smile grew a little wider, a little less sad. “I’ve seen, like, a gazillion therapists.”

Sam huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but the smile that lingered on his lips was still tainted with spite. “Well, who am I to argue with, like, a gazillion therapists?”

Liam didn’t say anything else. He simply smiled and waved a goodbye as Sam started to walk away.

Sam couldn’t wave back due to the weight he was carrying, but he flashed a final smile Liam may or may not have been able to see, making it as genuine as he possibly could; then he turned away and tried to push the interaction as a whole out of his mind.

_“You shoulda let it finish.”_

It wasn’t any of Sam’s business. Liam had said the group home wasn’t hurting him, and of course he wanted to go home; almost _all_ kids in the system wanted to go home, no matter what horrendous thing their parent or parents had done. Liam was getting therapy, and he might not have been _safe,_ but he was safer than he would have been at home or traveling across the United States in an old muscle car.

Bottom line, Sam was a hunter, not a foster dad, and given his recent, uncontrollable, downward spiral into self-destruction and his substance of choice… it just wasn’t a good idea.

_Sorry, kid. I hope your case gets sorted out, but I’m not what you want or need. Trust me._

And that was the end of that.

* * *

 

SEPTEMBER 28th, 2008

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

 

“Dean?”

Dean startled and barely kept from swearing. _I keep forgetting he’s here._ Not that he’d been avoiding the kid. Except for the part where he kinda had. Partly because he still wasn’t sure how to handle Sam being a dad, and partly because he was kind of in the middle of something hugely important. They all were.

Dean looked up from the book he was reading with a mildly irritated sigh. “What do you want, Liam?”

Liam froze like a deer in the headlights. “Never mind. Sorry.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.” Dean held out a hand to stop him. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just… tired.” He sighed. “I had a long night. Sorry.” He rubbed his face and blinked a few times, trying to coax his brain into a semi-sober state.

Liam didn’t say or do anything, hovering in the archway between the library and the kitchen with his body tensed, like a cornered animal ready to bolt.

Dean leaned back and set his book aside, giving the kid his undivided attention. “Come on, now. What is it?”

Liam shifted in place, glancing over his shoulder periodically, as if ensuring there was still an escape route. Which, given what little Dean knew of the kid’s history, was quite possible.

“Um… well, it’s two things, actually. I, um…” Liam looked down, fiddling with a piece of printer paper Dean hadn’t noticed before.

_But did I miss it because I’m drunk or because I’m tired? That is the question._

Liam cleared his throat and shuffled forward, holding out the sheet with as much space in between himself and Dean as he could manage. “This is for you. Sorzie, um, Sorzie said we surprised you the other day, and that’s why you kinda freaked out a little, so I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Dean simultaneously took the sheet and opened his mouth to object to Sam’s idea, but he turned the paper over and stopped himself before he could get a word out. “Lee… did you color this?”

Liam had taken a few steps back as soon as the paper left his hand, and he pressed himself against the wall with a bashful nod.

Dean whistled lowly, scanning the brightly-colored illustration of a pistol laying in a bed of flowers and leaves. It was an odd image—especially for an eleven year old to want to color—but there was no denying the skill behind the blended shades and the intricate designs that hadn’t accidentally been tainted by whatever color was next to them.

“This is pretty awesome, Lee.” Dean glanced up from the sheet to see a little smile on Liam’s face. “And you said this is for me?”

Liam nodded and chewed on his lip, hands folded behind him, bouncing him against the wall. “Mm-hmm. Sorzie said you like guns and roses, so I thought…” He shrugged. “Do you like it?”

Dean somehow managed not to burst out laughing. Instead, he channeled his amusement into a broad smile. “You know, I do like Guns N’ Roses, but… I think I like this a little bit more. Can I hang it on the fridge?”

Liam bounced on his toes, clearly ecstatic, but all he did was nod and smile.

“I’ll go looking for some magnets, then. I don’t think Bobby’s hung anything on his fridge in… well, I don’t think he’s ever hung anything on his fridge.” Dean set the paper on top of his book, immediately moving his beer to the other end of the table, where no accidental spills could ruin his gift. “Okay, that was thing one. What’s thing two?”

Liam tensed up slightly, seeming unnerved by the change in direction, even though he was the one who had initiated conversation and said there were two topics to cover.

Dean buffered for a moment, but then he cleared his throat and tried to smooth over whatever rift he had created. “Uh, I mean, unless you changed your mind. That’s cool.”

Liam looked down at the floor and shook his head. He looked up with his lip between his teeth, blue eyes searching Dean’s face before dropping back to the floor. “I just… wanted to tell you…” He took a deep breath and fidgeted in place. “Um, if you, y’know, wanna talk ever… about what happened… you can.” His gaze flickered up and back down again, feet twisting anxiously against the linoleum. “I didn’t mean to ease-drop, but… I heard what you said.”

Dean creased his brow, steadily growing more confused. “You… heard what I said?” Crap. What did he say? More importantly, how angry would Sam be when he found out, if he hadn’t already?

“Earlier… y’know, about being… _touched…_ by the angel… or the not-angel.” Liam kept his eyes on his ratty, untied laces, clearly uncomfortable. “I know it’s not fun to talk about… and you don’t always wanna tell the truth, but… if you wanna sometimes… you can talk to me.” He chanced a look at Dean’s eyes, lips twitching into a smile for a fraction of a second. “I’m a good listener, and… I understand.”

Dean went back over his earlier conversation with Sam and Bobby, trying to figure out what Liam was saying to him. They had been discussing the incident with Castiel and whether or not they believed his claims of angelhood, which fit with Liam referring to him as an angel-not-angel. But at what point did Dean say—

_“Well, then tell me what else it could be.”_

_“Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel.”_

It took another three seconds, but then Dean had his epiphany: Liam thought Dean had _literally_ been groped by an angel. He thought Dean said it didn’t happen because he didn’t want to talk about it. Liam said he _understood._

Dean blinked slowly, fighting to keep his expression calm. _Nope. Nope, nope, nope._

“Uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his head and tried to figure out how to proceed. “I didn’t actually mean the angel… not-angel… groped me, I meant…” Well, he had sort of meant it has a joke—a sarcastic way of dismissing what he couldn’t understand—but he hardly wanted to say so under the circumstances. “Castiel just… grabbed me really hard. You know, like how he left a handprint on my arm? I was trying to think of a way to describe a touch that wasn’t… normal.” _Nice, Winchester._

Liam tilted his head to the side and thought for a moment, brow scrunched up with confusion. “But then… why did you say it didn’t happen?”

 _Crap._ Dean scratched the back of his neck for a moment. “Well, at first I thought he…” _kid words, gotta use kid words,_ “…touched me in a way that hurt me… which is why I said what I did…” _just so we’re clear on groping being a bad thing,_ “…but I said it _didn’t_ happen because… now that we know he’s something supernatural… I think maybe he did it without touching me… somehow… like with magic, maybe. So, I didn’t want to use a word that meant touching.” _Did I mention all of the nope I’m feeling right now?_

Liam thought about it for a moment, lips twisting as he pondered, and then, after an agonizing moment of silence, he nodded. “Okay.”

 _Thank God._ Possibly a literal statement, given the last forty-eight hours.

Liam bit his lip, his earlier nervousness returning. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ease-drop.”

Dean waved it off. “You weren’t eavesdropping. We were all in the same room, you were bound to hear something, I just…” He just hadn’t been thinking. He tended to do that a lot when his mouth was moving.

Like, for example, just as Liam turned to go. “Hey, Liam.” He definitely wasn’t thinking then, because if he had been, he would have realized the conversation was over and he was a free man.

Liam stopped with one foot in the library, cautiously abandoning his attempt to leave with a slow turn that left him facing Dean again. “Yes?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trying to make his tongue wait for his brain to catch up. “Did someone, uh…” _Bad plan, very bad plan, abandon ship, abort mission, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, get the heck outta Dodge, preferably right this very instant._ “Did someone, uh… y’know, grope… you… before?”

Oh, yeah. Dean couldn’t think of a better conversation to have, especially with a twelve-year-old boy he barely knew and scared the living daylights out of. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Liam shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor again, shrinking in on himself. “Yeah.” He kicked his foot idly, chewing on his lips, one hand wandering up to tug on his hair.

“Okay, well…” Dean wet his lips and gestured to the seat across from him. “You wanna talk about it?” _I have no idea what I’m doing. None. I should stop before I make things worse._ “Maybe the angel… not-angel… didn’t touch me like… that… but I can still listen.” _What part of that sounds like stopping?_

Liam shrugged again, still looking at his threadbare sneakers, and his fingers twisted in between the locks of auburn. “It was my fault. I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

Dean pursed his lips, a small flicker of anger forming in the pit of his stomach. _This is going to go downhill fast._ He cleared his throat, shoving aside his instincts as a protector and older brother and generally decent human being. “What happened, Liam?”

Liam shuffled a little closer but didn’t sit on the chair, partially hiding behind it. “My mom took me to the hospital for my arm… and the doctor asked a lot of questions, and… he found another place where I was hurt, so I told him about Daddy… and how we would sometimes take showers together… or sleep together with no jammies on… and other stuff… and how it hurt sometimes…” He sniffed briefly, eyes misting up. “Daddy always said if I told, they were gonna take me away, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just—” He sniffed again, swallowing hard. “It just did. I just wanted to tell somebody.”

Dean took a breath and continued to tread carefully, but he couldn’t keep in the question banging against the backs of his teeth. “Being taken away was a bad thing, then? Because you, uh… you wanted to go home?”

Liam nodded and dragged his arm over his eyes with another sniff, pressing the sleeve to his mouth when he was done. Dean fondly noted that the flannel Liam was wearing was far too big, and he hoped Liam got the same comfort from wearing Sam’s shirt that Sam had always gotten from wearing Dean’s.

“I wanted to go back home, but they wouldn’t let me…” Liam sniffed again, moving his hand from his mouth to his ear. “Mom told them I was lying… and I tried to tell them I made a mistake, but…” He looked back at Dean, tugging on his hair again. “They still made me go to another family.”

Dean briefly thought of his own time in a boys’ home. It hadn’t been terrible—one could even argue he enjoyed himself—but he wasn’t naïve. He knew there were bad foster parents and group homes out there. “Did, uh… did the other family hurt you, too?”

Liam shook his head, slipping around the chair and sitting down cautiously. “Nobody hurt me. The Beckers were really nice. I liked it there.” His face twisted up, and he shook his head more vigorously than before. “But they weren’t my mom and dad.”

Dean spent a moment stunned speechless, trying to get his head around the idea of this kid _wanting_ to go back to a dad that molested him and a mom that let it happen. He didn’t—he _couldn’t_ —understand.

But he tried his best.

“Hey, I get it. It’s, uh—it’s your mom and dad, you know?”

Liam nodded tearfully, and after everything he had told Dean, it was the next sentence out of his mouth that made the tears spill over. “Everyone said the most awful things about them.” He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself, but his voice shuddered when the air came back out. “It made me so mad, and nobody—nobody cared, nobody listened. Everyone said they were bad, they _weren’t_ bad, they _aren’t_ bad, they’re my mom and dad, and I—” He choked out a sob and immediately stopped talking, putting his hands and their baggy sleeves against his eyes and breathing deep.

Liam, at twelve years of age, discussing his sexual abuse and the fear and pain he felt at being removed from everything he ever knew, was trying not to cry.

“Hey.” Dean cleared his throat, almost going for a hug before realizing contact with an adult male might not be the best thing for that moment… or ever. “Hey, um, look, I don’t normally do… y’know, mushy chick-flick moments and… stuff… but, uh…” He cleared his throat again and rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to process—let alone spit out a response to—everything Liam had told him. “I won’t, y’know, get mad or laugh or anything. If you gotta cry, you gotta cry.”

Liam’s shoulders shook a few more times, but then he was wiping his face and looking at Dean with drying eyes. “I’m okay.” That was definitely a lie. “I don’t need to cry.” So was that. “Sorry.” That wasn’t.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say? Sam was the one with the training, not Dean. He might have had big-brother experience and even some parenting experience by extension, but he definitely didn’t have interacting-with-traumatized-children-without-increasing-the-trauma-by-saying-something-stupid experience.

 _Sam. Sam is a good place to send this conversation._ “Have you, uh… have you talked to Sam about any of this?” Yes, definitely a good move. Go Dean.

Liam nodded. “We talk sometimes.” He swung his legs as he sat, staring down at his lap, and he sniffed hard. “Thank you for listening to me, Dean.”

Dean felt like someone stabbed him in the chest. Kids weren’t supposed to give thanks for a listening ear. Kids were supposed to selfishly assume everyone was obligated to hear what they had to say. They were supposed to think the world revolved around them, they were supposed to interrupt and throw fits when they were ignored, they were supposed to only thank someone for help they could physically see the impact of.

“Anytime, buddy.” Dean flashed a quick smile. “You can always talk to me.”

Liam looked up and offered a little smile of his own. “You can always talk to me, too.”

Dean lightly socked Liam on the shoulder, and he was able to smile for more than two seconds that time around. “Thanks, Lee, but I really didn’t mean… what you thought I meant.”

“But you’re still so sad.” Liam said it as if it were the plainest thing in the world, tilting his head slightly and peering up in confusion. “You have nightmares. You look like you want to cry when you think nobody is watching. You aren’t kind to yourself at all.” He stuck his bottom lip out slightly, seeming confused. “Isn’t it okay to talk about those things, too?” 

Dean stared, speechless, but he slowly got control over his tongue again. “I, um… I… yeah, of course, you should talk about anything that bothers you. Let me know, or let Sam know, or…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Well, if I need someone to talk to, I know I’ve got you, Lee.” He forced a smile, but he wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

Liam only smiled in return, though, sliding from his chair and shuffling over to the fridge. “Want another beer?”

“Sure,” Dean mumbled, half-dazed.

_“You aren’t kind to yourself at all.”_

_“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

Dean didn’t know what was happening to the universe, but he needed to go back to the one where he only interacted with Sam on a regular basis; Sam, who would always view Dean as the confident, debonair superhero that had been presented to him from the time he was little. Dean couldn’t handle so many new people coming in and somehow seeing his weak spots like he had—like he had freaking neon arrows pointing at them.

“Here.” Liam put the beer down in front of Dean and set his own juicebox on the table, leaving it there long enough to spear the top with a little plastic straw. “I’m gonna go print a picture of an angel to color. Maybe you can give it to the angel-not-angel, and he won’t leave any more handprints.”

Dean felt around for the bottle and loosely grabbed it. “Yeah, maybe…” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, good luck, buddy. I mean, have fun.” _Smooth, Winchester._

Shaking his head, Dean cracked open his beer and reached for his book.

He stopped when he saw Liam’s picture, taking a moment to just sit and look at it; to sit and think about the fact that a little boy he barely knew had taken so much time and effort—because it was clear there had been a lot of time and effort involved—into coloring a picture to apologize for… what? Existing? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Needing help from someone close to Dean? Sam making a life choice neither of them had any control over?

_“You look like you want to cry when you think nobody’s watching.”_

Well, yeah. Less than a week out of Hell, and new guilt was already being added to the gut-wrenching shame of all he’d done down below.

What was he supposed to do? Smile? Laugh?

Not likely. It was either drink or cry.

So, Dean took another swig and got back to work.

* * *

JULY 29th, 2008

BEL AIR, MARYLAND

 

Sam flashed his ID at the security guard and bypassed the metal detectors, stopping just long enough to get directions from the sheriff on duty. _This may actually be the most legitimate impersonation I’ve ever done._ Once he knew where to go, it was a quick trip up the elevator and down the hall to the Office of Children, Youth, and Families.

“Uh, James Page. I have an appointment to look at some files?” Sam flashed his badge to the woman behind the glass and sent a charming smile along with it. Mainly because he didn’t actually have an appointment, and he needed her to let that slide.

“I don’t see you on the schedule…” Lips puckered into a confused frown, brown eyes sliding from a computer screen to Sam’s face. “Are you sure your appointment was for this date and time?”

“Definitely.” Sam nodded without hesitation. “I literally just got this case a few days ago, but the hearing is this week, and I really need to see those files. I know this normally takes a couple weeks, but I emailed someone and explained the situation, and they said—” He held up a finger and reached into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and flipping through blank pages she couldn’t see. “I know I have the name in here… hold on…”

Laughing amiably, the receptionist nodded in the general direction of his jacket. “Let me see your ID again?”

“Huh? Oh.” Sam held it up, still holding the notepad in his other hand and looking a little flustered. “I’m with Harford County CASA. This is, uh, this is my first case.” He uttered a nervous chuckle. “In case you can’t tell.”

“Don’t worry about it. We love you guys.” She flashed a quick smile and then stood up, grabbing her keys. “I’ll be out in just a second, and I can take you back to the file room and get you set up.”

Sam let out a relieved sigh that was only part fake. “Oh, thank you. Do you need to see my court order or anything?” Hopefully not, because he didn’t have one.

“Nope, you’re all good to go.” She waved it off, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear as she input a keycode and followed it with the use of a conventional key. “Now, because we don’t have you on the schedule, I’ll need to know who it is I’m looking for.”

“His name is Liam Bailey.”

She immediately looked over her shoulder. “Oh, boy.”

Sam frowned slightly, genuine concern creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head with a sigh and put another code into a secondary door. “Nothing. I just need to put more paper in the printer. And you might need to make a couple trips to get it all back to your car.”

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes and nodded, already dreading both the work and what it would likely tell him. _‘Oh, boy’ is right._

* * *

SEPTEMBER 30th, 2008

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

 

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?”

Dean had a thousand responses on the tip of his tongue, but not a single one made it past his teeth, fear keeping his jaw clenched shut.

“There's a bigger picture here.”

Dean would deny averting his eyes until his dying breath, but that didn’t change the fact that he did. He looked away, his head started to tilt down, his shoulders even hunched ever-so-slightly.

“You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

Dean swallowed hard, chest tightening at the mere thought of facing those flames again, desperately trying to figure out what to say other than, ‘please, don’t.’

“Who’re you?”

Dean’s head snapped over to look at the library, and he felt a brief rush of panic. _Liam._

“I could ask the same.” Castiel’s voice rumbled, low and gravelly, his head turning just enough to put both Dean and Liam in his field of vision. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Dean took one look at Liam’s tearstained cheeks and realized he must have been woken by a nightmare. _Crap._ Not that he’d expected any less, especially given the whole attacked-by-monsters-and-kept-in-the-panic-room-while-his-caretakers-all-kicked-ghostly-posterior… _thing._ It was amazing the kid fell asleep at all.

Dean cleared his throat and waved in Liam’s direction. “Go on, Lee, back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Liam took a step back but hovered just past the archway, one hand wrapped around the wall, and he glared. He actually looked mad—something Dean was pretty sure he had never seen on the kid’s face before—and he was focusing that anger entirely on Castiel.

“I don’t like you,” Liam stated plainly.

“How is that relevant?” Castiel replied, equally unenthusiastic.

“Did you know about the monsters?” Liam answered a question with a question.

Castiel glared slightly. “I believe I already explained that this is none of your business.”

“Liam.” Dean pointed to the darkness of the library. “Seriously, bud, go to bed.”

Liam’s face only screwed up with more anger. “Why are you being mean to Dean?”

“Liam!” Dean whisper-yelled, snapping his fingers to get the boy’s attention.

Liam tensed up, staring at Dean with wide eyes, and then he bolted, most likely going back to curl up with an unconscious Sam. Frightened? Yes. Alive? _Yes._

Dean cleared his throat and slowly dragged his gaze back to Castiel, who was staring with an inquisitive brow. Hopefully inquisitive. If it was irritated or—literally Heaven forbid—angry and waiting for Dean to take further disciplinary action, they were screwed.

“He’s a kid, alright?” was what eventually came out. “Kids say stuff. Don’t… smite him, or whatever.”

“I don’t make a habit of smiting children.” From the way Castiel said it, Dean wondered whether Castiel _would_ smite children if it was deemed necessary.

He came to the conclusion that, yes, Castiel probably would.

 _Good to know._ Dean cleared his throat again. “Right. Well, you delivered your message, and I’ve got a kid to take care of, so…” He gestured vaguely to the living room, turning his head enough to see the couch, and when he looked back, Castiel was gone.

 _Of course._ He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. _My entire life is like one of those jokes where you tell it, but no one laughs, so you keep adding to it, trying to make it funnier, but you end up making it worse instead, but there’s no way out, so you either put yourself out of your misery or keep making it even worse in order to stave off your inevitable doom._

Dean walked into the library and spotted Liam sitting next to the couch, resting his head against Sam’s sleeping back.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispered, flashing a ghost of a smile.

Liam bit his lip and sank back into the furniture. “I’m sorry.”

“No, uh, it’s okay.” Dean rubbed the back of his head and knelt down, wishing he had the energy to smile again; to smile _better_. “Castiel’s just… really strong. It’s not a good idea to pick a fight with him, alright?”

Liam nodded slightly, sniffled, and then cast a frustrated scowl to the side. “I don’t like him. He’s a dick.”

“Woah, hold up a second.” Dean frowned slightly. “I agree with you, but let’s not go around calling people that, okay?”

Liam frowned, confused, but he nodded obediently. Just like he always did. So desperate for approval and love and the distinct lack of a temper that he would jump off a bridge if Dean asked. Or Sam. Or Bobby. Or anyone, probably.

Well, not Castiel. That was good, at least.

Dean cleared his throat. “Did you have a bad dream?” He resituated himself so he was laying on the nearby floor mattress, facing Liam. “Is that what woke you up?”

Liam crawled onto the makeshift bed and lay down less than two feet away, facing Dean. “Yeah.”

Dean waited a moment, but when Liam didn’t say anything else, he figured the kid didn’t want to talk about it. Dean got that—he was still telling Sam he didn’t remember anything about Hell—so he didn’t press.

“Dean?” Liam’s voice was shaking.

“What’s up, buddy?” Dean whispered.

“I don’t wanna wake Sam, but… I’m really scared.” Liam looked like he wanted to move closer, his fingers picking and clawing at the surface of the mattress, but he stayed put.

“Don’t worry, Liam. The Witnesses are all gone, and they aren’t coming back.”

Liam only shook his head, sniffling quietly. “It’s not that.”

“Well… what is it, then?” _Way to tell him Castiel was strong. Idiot._

But Liam shrugged. “Nothing. It just happens sometimes… especially after nightmares.” He shrugged again and sniffed, stretching his legs out so his toes were just barely brushing against Dean’s knees. “I just… I just get really scared, and I don’t know why, but…”

Dean reached out and pulled Liam closer before he could keep talking, setting aside any reservations he had regarding cuddles. If Liam had a problem making physical contact with men due to his past, he wouldn’t have slept with Sam up to that point, and he wouldn’t have been steadily creeping closer to Dean.

“It’s alright, Lee, I gotcha.”

Liam put his head over Dean’s heart and snuggled in close, one hand coming up to fist Dean’s shirt. “Thanks, Dean…”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Dean rubbed Liam’s back and stared at the ceiling. Liam’s shirt was damp with sweat, and Dean knew his own would be just the same in a matter of hours, assuming the nightmares stuck to their schedule.

Dean let out a soft sigh, occasionally running a hand through Liam’s hair, fingers trailing lightly over his back and shoulders in an attempt to soothe.

He felt like a hypocrite for telling Liam not to swear—not only did he have a foul mouth, but it hadn’t been any _less_ foul when he was Liam’s age—but it felt wrong. Maybe it was the desperate need to preserve whatever tiny shreds of innocence the kid still had. Maybe it was the sudden appearance of so-called holy messengers.

Maybe it was because of the word itself. After all, Dean couldn’t help but wonder where Liam had learned it. Had Liam’s father referred to his penis as a dick when he would… when they… well, did he?

Dean almost gagged, and he shoved the entire train of thought off its tracks. _It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll yell at him if he keeps saying it. It was just a suggestion._ He rubbed Liam’s back again and only refrained from sighing because he didn’t want to jerk Liam’s head around.

_Geeze. If I’ve been wrapped around his finger after one week, it’s no wonder Sam wasn’t willing to give him up after two months._

“Goodnight, Dee…” Liam trailed off into a yawn.

“Goodnight, Lee.” Dean barely managed not to do the same.

_I’m so screwed._

* * *

JULY 30th, 2008

ABERDEEN, MARYLAND

 

“Knock, knock.” Whisper.

Gasp. “Sam?”

“ _Knock, knock._ ” Insistent.

Giggle. “Who’s there?”

“Wanna.” Grin.

Curious. “Wanna who?”

“Wanna run away?” Excited.

“…” Ecstatic. “Yes!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there is actually a Harford County CASA, and yes, their CYF is actually in Bel Air, Maryland.


End file.
